Inseparable
by BravoExpressions
Summary: A mini-fic based on the flashback in the season five premiere of Mary in the delivery room before Norah was born. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a little mini story or a 'ficlette' spanning, I believe it's only five chapters. But it's based on the very minimal peek we got inside Mary's delivery room when Norah was born, and how in her memory the part she recalled was when Marshall showed up. I don't love it, and like I said it isn't very long, but I thought I'd put it out there anyway. I am painstakingly trying to churn out some more Sam but it's not going well, so this is a small piece of something to sink your teeth into for the time being.**

**Obviously, I don't own 'In Plain Sight' and the portions recounted from the show are obviously their own (all that should come through here at the beginning.) Otherwise, enjoy.**

XXX

Marshall often told himself that the hustle-and-bustle of the hospital was routine, even mundane if he was feeling especially casual. Mesa Regional fit him like a glove, the doors of the emergency room as familiar as the blue plaid shirt he'd had since college. The nurse's desk could easily serve as the stripes on that plaid; the sound of the intercom just like the holes in the fabric. He wore both like a coat, like he wore his badge. Whether it was gunshot victims he was bringing in, or merely those that had bumped an elbow during a fender-bender, none of it caused the same stirrings it had when he'd been young and naive, new to the job and its duties.

And yet, all that comfort did not reside on his shoulders during this trip as he hurried as casually as he was able through a ward in which he'd been very few times. Women with round, Buddha-like bellies lowered themselves into wheelchairs; others wandered the halls in billowy gowns, their material white and spotty with blue specks. It wasn't discomfort he felt, something he internally checked as he continued his jaunt. It was uncertainty and the fluttering, tickling feeling in his gut knew it was nerves.

The strap of the bag upon which his fingers were curled was worn and frayed, much like that of an old and treasured brown belt. He made sure to hang on as he stepped up to the counter where a nurse in maroon scrubs resided, playing absently with her computer.

"Excuse me?" Marshall posed, trying not to sound too terribly 'anxious dad.'

The nurse looked up. Her face was young and childlike; she couldn't have been more than thirty, and yet the innocence in her high cheek bones could easily put her just shy of twenty-one.

"Hi," he greeted her with what he hoped was a pleasant, free-of-fret smile. "I'm looking for Mary Shannon. I was told she was admitted already…"

"Yes, sir," the nurse returned his grin without even having to look up the information. "She was brought in about twenty minutes ago," her voice was high-pitched, but enjoyably sweet.

"Right," Marshall nodded, having expected as much. "Could you maybe direct me to her room?" he asked cordially. "I've got her things here…" he held up the bag to demonstrate, hoping with his visual aid he would be granted admittance without the usual question of whether or not he was family; he didn't want to have to flash his badge in front of this fresh-faced youth.

Fortunately, she smiled again, "Room five, sir."

Was he a 'sir?' He supposed so.

"Just down that hall…" she gestured to Marshall's back and he turned to show he was paying attention. "Make a right."

"Thank-you so much," Marshall opted for overly-grateful and spared the woman a quick nod before heading to the designated location.

With each step on the linoleum, shiny and reflective in Marshall's eyes, his boots making a steady clip-clop sound on the surface, the man tried to imagine what might lie in store for him when he reached room five. He had a thousand different instances swirling through his mind – voices, gestures, actions, instincts – all of it was becoming a muddled mess and he vowed to get it together before he saw Mary, on the off-chance she let him stay for more than two seconds.

She had Mark, after all. The guy had been so distraught to see her in so much pain he'd practically thrown himself into the ambulance. Jinx had not been far behind, nearly tripping on her high-heels, all thoughts of Brandi flying the coop forgotten.

Marshall had been distressed to see Mary in – well, distress – but had been able to remind himself the whole time of who she was and how she operated. He'd merely wanted to squelch her fears, to convince her she would be all right because calmness would promote a much happier situation for everyone. Mary included.

Her blazer had been soft underneath his fingers as he'd rubbed careful, well-timed rotations on her back meant to settle her down.

"_It's not time…it's not time…" _

No, she'd been correct. It was not time. Mary was still eight weeks shy of a full-term delivery. But he'd done his best to help her see the light.

"_Mary, look at me. Women deliver at thirty-two weeks every day…"_

"_Okay…"_

"_You know that."_

More than anything, it was her face that was haunting Marshall. The pure, unadulterated panic and dread in her large green eyes. Even when he'd been shot, she hadn't looked like that. She'd been scared, sure. But she'd transferred almost seamlessly into her expert, 'fix it, and fix it now' mode. She couldn't adopt that philosophy with the unborn child threatening to make an entrance forty-two days before schedule.

But whatever philosophy Mary _was_ adopting, he was about to find out. Striding toward a set of frosted glass double-doors with 'Room 5' stamped in block letters across the finish; Marshall was startled to see how many nurses were bustling around both in and out of the confines. They wore the same maroon scrubs as the desk attendant.

He could hear her. Before he even saw her, he could hear her. There was an agonizing, tearful moan that came from behind those doors and Marshall slipped right through them with the exit of a stone-faced professional.

"Oh my God…"

He caught her groaning, a distraught palm on her forehead while Jinx whispered reassurances at her bedside, still dressed in that pale pink dress. Mary was too busy coming undone for Marshall to hear what Jinx uttered, but his partner proved it was nothing she wanted to hear.

"It's not okay!" she insisted, warding off her mother's encouragement.

But at that moment, Mark whirled around in the presence of the other man. It was clear from his face he was a little out-of-his-element, but trying to be of assistance to his ex. However, Mary did not seem to notice him and a flicker of gratitude flashed in Mark's face at seeing someone so close to Mary enter the room.

"Hey…!" Mark dashed from the bed and over to Marshall.

Marshall offered him Mary's tote, "I found a suitcase with the baby stuff in it," he presented.

"Thanks Marshall…" Mark said at once, taking the bag.

He nodded in a would-be-convincing way, attempting to appear in control but it was obvious by his brown eyes that he knew his attempts to quiet Mary had failed and he was getting desperate. Regardless, Marshall offered his own nod to say he understood the position. They'd all been thrown into the deep end on this one.

But it was amazing how quickly Marshall could allow his gaze to stray from the father of this child and onto Mary's face, where she was adept at beating off Jinx's words meant to lend a hand.

"Oh my God; this _sucks_!" she burst.

Jinx soldiered on, stroking her daughter's hair and speaking right over her.

"Angel, it'll be better if you just…"

But nobody could cut you off like Mary, "Oh my God; you did this _twice_?" she cried in disbelief. "No wonder you drank!"

Jinx simply shook her head lovingly, knowing from experience that Mary was likely to say anything – in or out of a delivery room. For Marshall, it was a bit of a relief to hear that his partner could still snark even in the throes of labor, if that was indeed what this was. However, he was more concerned with her well-being at the moment and turned back to Mark, who was glancing over his shoulder and back again trying to get a handle on things.

Marshall decided to prod a bit, monitors beeping steadily all around him, but it had become white-noise compared to Mary's misery.

"She having a hard time?" her partner ventured, trying to open Mark up for some information and peering over his shoulder at the form of his rounded friend.

"I guess that's what you'd call it…" Mark shook his head and laughed weakly, mindful not to let Mary hear. "Not that I blame her, I mean…"

Her ex chose not to finish that sentence and instead picked up with another, "I think she's just a little freaked out. It's a lot all at once…"

"Yeah," Marshall agreed, hoping to ease Mark's jittery demeanor. "Judging by the gown and the bed and the monitors, it looks like they're going ahead with delivery," he observed shrewdly. "It is premature labor, then?" although he'd figured as much. "No false alarm?"

"Doesn't seem like it," Mark offered. "They're not sure why the baby's coming early, but her-her-her…" he got tongue-tied trying to report with proper terminology. "Her…water broke," he eventually recalled. "In the ambulance, so…"

"Nothing they can do after that," Marshall sighed, unable to let Mark go on.

Internally, as Mary continued to growl, Marshall berated himself several times over for the afternoon's events. Mary should not have been in that courthouse. She should not have been shot at. She should not have been running or racing, and she certainly should not have hit the hard floor while bullets rained through the glass. Marshall suddenly felt it must've smarted a lot more now that it had caused this much trouble.

"Hey…" the taller of the two men finally decided it was time for action, speaking to recall Mark's gaze who was unable to keep his eyes in one spot. "You mind if I sit with her a minute?" he ventured with reckless abandon. Backpedaling a bit, "I'll absolutely understand if you'd rather it just be the two of you; it can be a private matter and I'm sure Mary's…"

But he needn't have tried to sound so understanding, because Mark grabbed hold of the leeway in no time.

"Marshall, you're her best friend," he insisted as though her partner did not know this. "If anybody can talk her off the ledge, I'm pretty sure it's you."

Marshall went for a humble smile at this compliment, nodding sedately and waiting for Mark to go on.

"I'm gonna step out and call my mom…" he indicated the door. "Just let me know if the main event shows up or anything," he made a brave attempt at a chuckle.

"Sure," Marshall nodded and watched the ex-husband disappear through those same double doors, depositing Mary's tote onto a spare space of floor with his exit.

Now that Marshall had an unobstructed view, he could tell that Jinx's hair-stroking was becoming more and more like patting a dog the longer she went on. She wasn't letting up in her efforts to get Mary to relax and to breathe, but it was having the exact opposite effect. Her daughter was more agitated than ever, recoiling from the touch, shifting to the opposite side of the bed where Marshall approached.

"Mary honey, look who's here…!" Jinx seized the opportunity, finally halting her movements and gesturing wildly at Marshall. "It's Marshall; isn't that nice he came all the way down…"

"Because I need an audience...?" Mary griped, shaking her head back and forth on the pillow and not meeting her partner's eyes.

It was the tears very low in her throat that made Marshall hurt. She despised crying.

Unfortunately, the sensation was becoming a more likely possibility with each passing moment. Marshall, somewhat well-read in the movements of the monitor that kept track of Mary's contractions, saw that she had just been crashed with another. You could set your watch by its peak, because she cried out right on cue, covering her eyes with her hand.

"Jesus Christ…!" her voice was shaking, beginning to lose her grip all over again.

"Darling, just try to breathe…" Jinx was relentless, but smart enough to discontinue touching her. "It'll make you feel better…"

It was clear, to Marshall at least, that his friend was in too much pain to respond with an appropriate comeback. And yet, some small inkling in his chest could've sworn she had one eye open beneath her shielding fingers and it was meeting Marshall's. Instinct had him placing a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder – nothing more, nothing less.

The sounds were hoarse as Mary attempted to come together, but it wasn't working for her. Hoping he had the authority to delegate in this family, Marshall raised his eyes to Jinx and jerked his head at the door, indicating that he needed a minute – just a minute. Fortunately, the mother understood and left the pair in peace, not even bothering with a goodbye because Mary was so consumed.

"What's happening?" she wanted to know long after the door had shut. "What's going on?"

Marshall was steady, "You are in labor."

She didn't disappoint. Removing her hand, she glared up at him with a new kind of ferocity. Her cheeks were sweaty, but her eyes in slits as she sized him up. His hand remained on her shoulder.

"I am _not_ in labor."

"You are in labor," he repeated swiftly. "A little before landing time, yes. But in labor, nonetheless."

"I listened to you…" she was obviously between contractions for a moment. "You said forty weeks is full-term. This is not full-term. I cannot be in labor…"

"Then what's your diagnosis, inspector?" he asked casually.

There was a stool nearby and Marshall rolled it over, perching himself at her bedside. Up close, he saw how damp her hair had become - heat, stress, an innumerable combination of things had made her sweat in excess. He could also see her swallow, eyes flicking to the monitor over his head to watch for the next earthquake.

"It's because of earlier," she insisted in a low voice, Marshall knowing to what she was referring. "They're overreacting. Nothing's coming out of this…" she gestured indistinctly in her lower region.

Marshall did his best not to go red and pressed on.

"Mark said your water broke," he reminded her firmly.

"I peed my pants."

"Mary," Marshall turned stern and unwavering.

She shut up, probably to prepare herself for the next onslaught, but Marshall could see the fierce determination that resided deep within. It was alarming how quickly she jumped back on the bandwagon.

"You don't let me set up shop in denial even when I'm about to pop this kid…!"

Her voice broke off, and Marshall was fully expecting a rant, at least until the next contraction, when the severing came at the expense of tears – real tears. They were full and streaming on her face, wrinkling her nose and crumpling her skin. They made her sniff and water and Marshall felt so much sympathy for her as he reached out and brushed a few strays away with his index finger.

"Mary, don't cry," he implored, but she wouldn't open her eyes. "You're all right," he'd said that before. "You're going to be fine; you're in good hands."

"I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do…" she wept unashamedly, refusing to look at him.

"You will figure it out," Marshall assured her, not knowing whether she was talking about labor or adoption but he figured the response worked for either. "You always do."

"I don't _want_ to figure it out!" her eyes flew open and they were blazing with intensity and stubbornness. "I don't want to do this! I didn't sign on for this! I didn't ask for my insides to be ripped apart; I didn't ask for strangers to be poking around in my hoo-hah! I didn't…!"

The promise of finishing the tirade was slashed when another wave coursed through her abdomen. Marshall was certain that this time, her outburst was one of frustration as well as pain.

"Not again!" she groaned deep in her throat and copied her earlier movements of putting her hand to her forehead, her protest mixing with tears.

"Okay…" Marshall murmured calmly, standing up so he could see more of her. "_Try_ to breathe…" he beseeched her, venturing to put his hand back on her shoulder for she hadn't seemed to mind it before. "Take a deep breath; you'll make it worse if you continue to fight like this…"

Mary was only half-listening, biting her lip in her discomfort. Marshall saw her right hand on the side of her belly, where the ache might be the strongest. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.

"What if I can't?" she rasped, turning away from him trying to ward off the pain.

'Can't what?' was Marshall's first thought, but then he assumed she meant breathing.

"Come on…" he coached gently, squeezing her shoulder to recall her to him.

He could see her fingers, the fingers on the same hand that was pressing against her tummy. They were flexing, recoiling, flashing in and out with nothing to hold onto. It was as though the extremities had a mind of their own – a pain all their own, and they were flailing for comfort. Throwing caution to the winds, Marshall shifted his left hand to her shoulder and the right to her fingers.

He felt certain she'd resist, but the smallest flicker of touch, and she closed in. She held his hand.

"Come on," Marshall repeated, trying not to treat this gesture as the milestone it was. "Breathe in…"

He did it himself, hoping she would copy him; an inhale through both his nose and mouth. Mary's attempt was dramatic; her eyes were screwed shut and the intake of air was rougher and harsher, but she was listening and that was everything.

"Good," Marshall stayed resolutely calm. "Now breathe out…"

They went through the same movements again, and Mary struggled every second to stay in one piece, her fingers gripping and clutching deep inside Marshall's palm. The minute her exhale hit the ground, at the exact same moment the contraction siphoned off, her release of the stress surprised him. Her head fell back against the pillows and she panted, trembling and looking to be on the verge of tears once more.

"That was good…" Marshall praised, hoping to get her more level-headed. "You were great…"

"No…" she moaned, seemingly no longer noticing his hand. "Make it stop; just make it stop…"

"I would if I could, but you know that I can't," Marshall informed her. "You're gonna get through this; you are."

"Oh God…" she was no longer paying attention, and Marshall had no intention of letting her get any further, especially when she wouldn't open her eyes to face him.

"Hey…" he whispered, just three letters among the action all around them, domination of busy nurses and monotone beeps in the corners of his mind.

But it appeared simplest was best. Mary slid her lids open and faced him, zeroing in on his soft, understated blue eyes. He was so calm. Like the lighthouse in the dark. She bit down so hard on her lip in her effort not to cry that she worried she'd taste blood.

"You're doing the best you can," her partner reminded her kindly. "That's all anyone can ask."

"If this is my best, it's pathetic," she whispered.

"We're _all_ new at this," Marshall reminded her, loving the feel of her fingers criss-crossing inside of his. "Everybody here wants to help you."

Mary didn't respond to this, merely let out a disbelieving scoff that said this might be true, but whether she wanted the help or not remained to be seen.

"Did you get my things?" she asked hoarsely to avoid answering to his response. "Did you find the suitcase?"

"I found your bag, yeah…" he waved his free hand indistinctly over his shoulder. "The brown one; I gave it to Mark. I assumed that must be it…"

Marshall was about to go on, was about to say why he had made such a guess but he wasn't sure this was the best time. She was mellowing out slightly, although still breathing very hard in her strain. But something deep inside couldn't stop him from posing the question threatening to fall from his lips.

"It had a change of clothes for you and…two sleepers," he reported. "A yellow and a green. Newborn size."

He didn't elaborate on what he thought this might mean, what he suspected it might mean. But it was apparent Mary caught the run-down for what it was. She shook her head, tears forming in the corners once more, but she managed to keep them in this time.

"Yeah…" she huffed, gaze straying from his. "That's it."

Marshall didn't press her on this, and graduated to moving the pads of his fingers in circles on the shoulder he caressed. He let the silence wrap them up, punctuated by a combination of technologic beeps that came from the monitors, the opening and closing of the door, Mary's struggle to breathe in and then out.

But his partner had never been much for silences.

"Where's Jinx?" she asked, as if only just noticing she was missing.

"She just stepped out with Mark," Marshall informed her. "I can tell her to come back in if you want."

"No…" Mary shook her head, but it was without disdain and not a hint of poking fun at Marshall for asking. "Not yet."

Surprisingly, she shifted away from him not as though she was in pain, but the air of discomfort lingered in spades, etched in every line of her face. She was not yet caught in the undertow again, but she tugged at the fabric of the gown, splaying her hands on either side of her belly. Marshall initially guessed she was just trying to get situated, but when her breaths turned short and staccato and her eyes fell shut, he became concerned.

"What's going on?" he asked. "You okay?"

It was a moronic question, but she understood what he meant.

"I don't…" it was hard for her to get the words out. "I don't know…" she could hardly sit still and it made Marshall want to reel her back in.

But he merely furrowed his brow and waited her out.

"Am I supposed to be feeling all this…?" she sunk beneath the sheet covering her, but then back up against the pillows. "This pressure?"

Ah. Now he understood. He buried the need to ask the question, 'What kind of pressure?' and went for something more logical instead.

"Did you happen to notice when they admitted you if somebody mentioned how many centimeters you were dilated?" he asked, squeezing her hand in hopes that she was listening.

She might've been listening, but the answer was going to have to wait. The rise on the crest was fast-approaching and this supposed-pressure coupled with the agony of an ill-timed contraction meant Mary was not up to speaking.

"Shit…no…" she cursed, hands scrabbling along her stomach trying to find the source of the ache, bumping into the fetal heart monitor strapped beneath her gown. "It's too fast…"

The lines on the screen perfectly matched when the flame burned and twisted through her insides; her hands went back to her face and she gave a gut-wrenching moan of agony that seared Marshall's skin. Pulling it together quickly, he leaned over and tried to get her regrouped.

"Breathe for me…" he whispered, wanting to see her eyes. "Breathe – come on…" it was the same song and dance as before. "You can do it; you did it once, you can do it again…" he insisted quietly.

It was such a glaring contrast between his muffled voice and her projected whimpers. Unable to stop his rational thought, Marshall laid a gentle kiss on her forehead but she wouldn't remove the hand still covering her eyes.

However, Mary did manage a stream of inhales and exhales amongst the tortured cries; they sounded more like gasps and gulps but it was clear she didn't know what else to do.

"Atta girl…" he encouraged fruitlessly, rubbing her hair with the hand that was not being squeezed into severed fingers. "That's good…"

"What's the pressure?" she burst out over his words of wisdom, able to squirm more freely with the contraction reaching its tail end, but no less worked-up. "What is it? I feel like it's…"

Marshall didn't make her go on and curled his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away so he could look at her.

"How many centimeters were you when you got here?" he pressed with just a hint of urgency. "Did you hear, or not?"

"I don't know…" she wagged her head, but contradicted herself. "Six or seven?"

"Okay…" Marshall was as balanced as he knew how to be. "I imagine you're about ready to push," he revealed as delicately as possible. "That's the pressure; it's the baby moving down the birth canal. But you'll need to wait until they tell you it's time."

His even, steady demeanor had no effect on her. The very idea that she could be so close to delivery about sent her into a tailspin.

"_Push_?" she repeated incredulously, her eyes wide and round on his. "As in…?" she cast around for the right word, but saw no point in wasting the energy. "_Push_?"

"More or less," Marshall shrugged dully, trying to make light.

Mary was back to shaking her head, to chewing on her lip, and now fighting more than just the hurt but the urge to hold on when it was obvious she wanted to let go. Marshall could see her coming undone, and he knew from experience that she'd showed him quite enough of her insecurities for one day. He could almost predict what came next.

"Get Jinx," she demanded, tight-lipped both to keep from growling and trying not to shed tears. "Please…" it wasn't working, and wetness leaked out anyway, which she ignored. "Get Jinx…"

Marshall wanted to ask if she was certain, but now wasn't the time to question her.

"Absolutely," he nodded, knowing she felt she could fall apart in front of Jinx and not him. "I'll be right outside."

He was still standing, but had stopped bending over to check on her. Her hand had gone limp with the promise that he was leaving and he slipped his fingers free. Unable to help himself, he patted the top portion of her hand instead to offer his reassurance.

"Hang in there, all right?"

Mary nodded, but it was obvious she wanted her mother. Marshall was not insulted; they were best friends, but she was confused and humiliated and a woman who hated to show she was vulnerable. She was banking on Jinx understanding.

"Thanks for bringing my things," she whispered and Marshall gave her a soft smile before turning to exit as asked.

He expected to have to track down Jinx, but she was tottering on her heels just across the room among the couches and chairs that represented the waiting room. She hadn't even bothered to sit down, and the minute she saw Marshall come out she bolted over, displaying frantic tendencies that had been remarkably kept under wraps in the birthing room.

"Thank-you for staying with her, Marshall," she expressed without preamble, touching the man's arm. "You always keep her calm."

"Well, I don't know about that…" he shrugged, hands slipping into his pockets in his modesty. "She's scared," he admitted in an undertone, to which Jinx nodded. "It's early; she just doesn't feel ready…" he reflected on his partner's words from when they'd been sitting on the altar.

"Well, thank-you for everything…" Jinx persisted. "Did she say if…?"

"I'd head back in," Marshall gave his approval. "I'll send Mark when he returns."

Jinx, already having presented her gratitude twice, sent him a winning smile and pushed her way back through the double doors. They swung shut almost at once, but Marshall stuck around just long enough to see the kind of greeting the older Shannon received.

Although the glass was frosted and it was difficult to glimpse much of anything, Jinx as-much-as transformed once she resumed her post at the right side of Mary's bed. She put her arms around her daughter, one in back and one in front across her middle. Marshall's heart broke when he saw Mary succumb to the tears and sob in her mother's embrace, soundless on this side of the door. Jinx just patted her hair and shushed her, but it made him ache. He'd have loved Mary just the same if she'd busted at the seams in his presence, but she'd let her guard down more than she was comfortable with already.

As her best friend of eight years, surely he'd have gotten used to this by now.

XXX

**A/N: As I say, it's only five chapters and it's nothing extensive. Just goes through what I imagine Norah's birth was probably like based upon the tiny insight the show gave us.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you all so much for the incoming reviews; they're wonderful. I didn't expect this to get much exposure, with its short length and everything, but you all make it worth it!**

XXX

Dragging himself away and taking a seat on the couch, Marshall tried to prepare himself for the wait ahead. Pressure or no pressure, he knew killing time before Mary gave birth could still persist for hours down the road. He wondered if she knew that, and a part of him hoped not.

He was only sitting for fifteen minutes or so, trying not to listen to what went on behind closed doors, already having sent Mark back in, when Stan rushed onto the scene. He was out of breath, still in his wedding attire as they all were, running an agitated hand over his shiny bald head.

"Hey…" he gasped upon seeing Marshall, slowing slightly with his approach. "How is she? She all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Marshall reported, grateful for the company. "Or…" he altered his answer. "As well as can be expected."

"As well as can be expected; what's that mean?" Stan pressed, taking a seat beside his inspector and fiddling with the tie around his neck. "They figure out what's up?"

"What's up is she's in labor eight weeks before she's supposed to be," Marshall adopted a cynicism he usually did not, but he was feeling the part of Mary that lived inside him rear its head.

"They can't stop it?" Stan wanted to know, furrowing his brow.

"You'll have to take my word for it that sparing you the details is what you would appreciate," Marshall dictated, thinking of how Stan would react to the term, 'water breaking.'

"All right then…" the older man sighed, leaning back against the sofa in time to catch his breath, adjusting his tie once more so that it would lie flat.

The men sat in silence for a few moments, far enough down the hall not to glean too much of what was coming out of room five, for which Marshall guessed Stan was probably grateful. Marshall could tell just by looking at him that he was anxious about all the pregnancy-related goings-on, but was trying to stay cool.

"You see her?" Stan finally asked, turning to face the younger.

"Yeah," Marshall nodded casually. "For a few minutes. I tried to calm her down; she was…" he hesitated, wondering how Mary would prefer he go about explaining her flip-out. "She was a little upset."

"Poor kid," Stan sighed sympathetically. "Bullets, lockdown, runaway bride, and a baby all in one afternoon."

Marshall chuckled, thinking Mary would appreciate her plight being recognized as rugged, rather than showcasing the need for her to be pitied.

"Speaking of the runaway bride," Stan spoke over Marshall's chortle, visibly relieved to find something besides pregnancy to discuss. "I was late getting down here because I thought Mary and Jinx might want to know what happened to Brandi; make sure she's safe."

"Yeah…?" Marshall waited.

"She took Mary's car, and it's logged in the computer at work. From what I gathered, she's perfectly fine and heading southeast," he reported. "I'm hoping she'll phone when she gets wherever she's going."

"I imagine she will," Marshall assumed. "Once the dust settles," he sighed, copying his boss. "She's got a lot on her mind right now."

Marshall had mixed feelings about Brandi's leaving Peter at the altar. It was heartbreaking for Peter, there was no denying, and there were certainly better ways she could've gone about calling off the wedding, but he also felt a strange sense of mercy for his partner's little sister. From what Mary had told him, Brandi simply hadn't believed she was good enough to marry Peter. And that was just…sad.

"You think she would've gone through with it?" Stan voiced almost out of nowhere. "You know, if…?"

Marshall knew this was Stan's way of finding out if Marshall believed what he did – that if they hadn't sequestered Mary if she'd have been able to talk Brandi off the ledge.

"We'll never know," was Marshall's logical and fault-free response. "It's over and done with."

But apparently Stan was not convinced and decided to stop beating around the bush and just say what was so clearly coursing through his mind.

"I never should've called her and made her come to the courthouse…"

"Stan, come on…" Marshall tried to reason with him, leaning forward and perching on the edge of the couch, trying to get a good look at his boss' face.

"It was her sister's wedding day, and I pull her out – now look where we've landed," he gestured indiscriminately at the doors beyond, shaking his head in his guilt.

"What would you have done?" Marshall asked earnestly. "Honestly. The court could've held her in contempt; you know that…"

"They wouldn't have held her in contempt because we never got to court!" Stan burst, much more angrily than Marshall usually saw from him.

He knew Stan could be a badass, knew that when he meant business there was no double-crossing him, but he tended to place that side of their chief on the professional spectrum. This had so quickly become personal, and that was new.

"You didn't know that," Marshall stated very distinctly, seeing Mary wasn't the only one he was going to have to placate today. "None of us knew. I don't believe for a _second_ – and neither would Mary – that you would _ever_ knowingly put either one of us in a situation we could not handle, especially not when one of us is eight months pregnant!"

Marshall was so emphatic without raising his voice, his blue eyes turning steely as he bored into Stan and not wanting anyone to feel like they had to take the blame for what was going on. Placing fault didn't help anyone, especially when there was no going back and no changing what had already been done. Their focus was on the future.

"I know…" Stan muttered distractedly, sitting up as well and clasping his hands over his knees beside his inspector. "I know."

Marshall nodded, glad to see that Stan was accepting his words of wisdom and both of them went quiet another time, staring into oblivion and thinking about everything that was unfolding. The coffee table of chipped wood was littered with out-of-date magazines, mostly parenting ones but there were a few National Geographic's among the set. Marshall was considering flipping idly through one, when Stan surprised him by speaking.

His voice was barely a whisper, but it was clearly essential that he know the answer.

"What's a kid look like at thirty-two weeks?"

Marshall blinked at him and saw that his hands were pressed over his mouth as he paused in thought, as he contemplated what a baby eight weeks shy of full-term could resemble – what problems might arise.

"Small," was the inspector's simplistic answer.

"Yeah, I figured that," Stan wasn't going to be baited into a false sense of security and didn't bother to hide his disdain.

"The baby could be anywhere from three-to-five pounds; anything under five is considered premature," Marshall explained in more detail, remembering everything he'd read online about pregnancy, so heightened was his curiosity when Mary had gotten, as she referred to it, 'knocked up.'

"Jesus, three pounds?" Stan breathed, looking like he was unable to wrap his mind around this factoid. "That's tiny…"

"I would venture a guess – although I can't be certain – that this kid will be bigger than three," Marshall shrugged. "But I'd be shocked if it had made it to five already."

"All right, all right…" Stan was bobbing his head up and down in his understanding. "Fixable. What else?"

Marshall had to admire Stan's compassion for Mary, and he understood where it came from. Both of them knew, whether Mary was planning to keep the baby or not, that she felt a responsibility to it, that it was up to her to make sure it stayed healthy. Until Stan had asked, Marshall really hadn't considered how Mary might react if the baby had additional problems. If adoption really was her route to go, leaving a sick child was going to be that much harder for her.

"Anything else, we'll pretty much have to wait and see…" Marshall jumbled in response to Stan's inquiry. "The baby will likely be in the NICU and fed intravenously, and the lungs might be underdeveloped…"

He was working himself up unintentionally with all the information, wondering how Mary would fare when she heard all this – and likely from some stranger. Although, it was entirely possible she might ward off any details and hand the baby over to some deserving couple.

And yet there were those sleepers in her bag.

Marshall thought about sharing this with Stan, but guessed Mary wouldn't like it. And in any case, Stan was speaking again.

"Well, it'll be a tough kid," he decided, leaning back again and appearing more relaxed. "Mary's a tough kid," as though this explained it.

"There is that," Marshall couldn't help but agree.

At that moment, his phone rang; it was in the breast pocket of his suit and he had to fish it out, maneuvering it around so that he could see the screen. Not much to his surprise, it was Abigail. Stan seemed to sense who might be on the other end and reached for a magazine to give Marshall some measure of privacy.

"Hey," Marshall greeted his girlfriend, knowing he'd told her not to follow them to the hospital, having no idea how long they would be there. "Did you go home?"

"Yeah, I got here a little while ago; changed clothes," Abigail reported in her Southern twang. "How's Mary?"

"She's okay…" was the best and probably most truthful way Marshall could reply. "Holding up like a champ," he added, even if it was a blatant fib. "You sure you don't mind my sticking around here?"

In his heart of hearts, he didn't care if she minded or not. Fortunately, she chose to be cordial.

"Of course I don't mind," Abigail was amiable as well as kind. "She's your best friend, Marshall."

Marshall didn't really have a good response to this declaration. It was true, and it had been true for as long as he could remember. He didn't intend to dispute it, or to make excuses to Abigail about why he _shouldn't_ stay until the baby was born. But the woman's intuition must have been buzzing, because she forged on.

"About what I said earlier at the courthouse…" she began.

"We don't need to discuss it," Marshall interrupted without thinking.

"I just don't feel like I should have…" Abigail pondered the appropriate response momentarily. "I shouldn't have accused you of doing your job. That's all it was. Protecting Mary is part of your job."

Marshall couldn't have said why, but he was vaguely unsettled by this response. Was it an apology? Was it simply a way for Abigail to express that she disapproved of Mary's and Marshall's relationship and was trying to give her boyfriend a hint? Or did she really see it the way she'd said and hadn't meant anything more by it?

"Well…" he tried to come up with a diplomatic reply. "For the most part, Mary can take care of herself. But when we get in those duck-and-cover situations…"

"I get it Marshall," Abigail cut in. "I do."

She's said that already. Earlier, when Marshall had called her on her claim.

"Good," was all he could think of to say, hoping he sounded nonchalant. "With any luck, I'll be home soon. I know you had quite a day too."

Marshall only meant part of this response; it was true Abigail had been through the wringer as well – less so than Mary, but nonetheless. But a part of himself he was trying to squelch didn't want to go home. Especially not soon.

Fortunately, they were both spared the task of further responses because Jinx emerged from across the room. Marshall had lost track of how long he and Stan had been sitting, but his boss looked up in the presence of the woman and the inspector did as well.

"Marshall…!" Jinx called, obviously trying not to bellow but wanting herself heard as she beckoned with her hand.

"Sorry…" he relayed to Abigail. "I'm gonna have to go."

"I understand," she insisted. "Talk to you later. Keep me updated."

"Sure," Marshall took care to say before slapping his phone shut and replacing it in his pocket.

Both he and Stan stood, and Jinx opted to join them halfway instead of directly in front of the double-doors. She was looking stressed and a little strung-out, but still had the air of trying to be positive, of seeing the bright side. Stan inclined his head in a brief greeting, but both men wanted to give her the floor.

"What's up?" Marshall asked to get her going, not wanting to appear apprehensive.

"I'm sorry honey…" Jinx looked dismayed, and Marshall was briefly thrown by the affectionate term but brushed over it, guessing it was a reflex. "Mary's about to deliver…"

Holy God.

"She wants to talk to you," the mother declared. "You'll have to be quick – clearly there's not a lot of time…" she emitted a nervous little laugh. "But it seemed so important to her; I didn't know what else to do, she's so frightened…"

Jinx was rambling now, getting mixed up, but Marshall saw no issue with this at all and merely hoped he'd be able to keep the visit brief.

"It's not a problem," he insisted genially, raising a hand as though to talk Jinx down. "Let's go…"

Ditching Stan, who could no more have gone in the delivery room than grown a full head of curls, Marshall followed Jinx back to the fated room five, wondering how on earth Mary could've come out of a task in which she needed to be so desperately engrossed to ask for him. A selfish, strange pride was floating in his chest at the thought.

Through the doors they went, and Marshall saw at once that Jinx was absolutely right – he was going to have to be as speedy as possible and get whatever was on Mary's mind out in the open, because giving birth was clearly on the eminent horizon. There was a flurry of nurses, some at Mary's head, a few at the foot with the single doctor. Tools were being passed back-and-forth, towels and flashes of silver, and Mark was on the far side holding one of Mary's legs up. Marshall did everything in his power not to let his eyes wander, because he knew his partner would be humiliated.

Mary was undoubtedly in a considerable amount of pain, as well as wrapped in a virtual cocoon of intensity. She'd fallen into a pattern of gasping and groaning, looking up and then down, sometimes to the side, muttering indistinctly under her breath.

Marshall jogged up to his previous post at her head and if she could feel relief at all in this moment, he could've sworn it flickered through her eyes when they met his face.

"Hey…" he addressed her gently. "What's going on? What do you need?"

How on earth she was going to tell him when she could barely breathe remained a mystery, but he waited just the same; Jinx at his elbow. He ignored Mark as best he could; trying to pretend like it was just the pair of them.

"Marshall, you have to do something…" she managed, grunting low in her throat with the effort.

"What would you like me to do?" he pressed as quickly as he could, not having the faintest idea what she meant.

"I can't do this now…" she whimpered. "I can't," her eyes pinched shut and she swallowed hard. "There must be something…"

Going on went out the window when another contraction forced its way through, and this one definitely caused the team a marginal amount of alarm. Marshall could tell what was going on and it made even _him_ uncomfortable; Mary was protesting, resisting, pulling against the urge with everything she possessed. Stan's 'poor kid' rang in his ears, and Marshall believed it now more than ever. She hadn't prepared herself at all and she was going to battle to the bitter end.

"Oh, Jesus…!" she was really crying now, her speech broken on every syllable.

Mark tried to pat her hair, looking upset on her behalf, and whispering, "It's okay…" every few seconds.

"Mary, we _really_ need you to push the next time you have a contraction…" the doctor directed from the foot of the bed, firm but wanting to sound indulgent. "You're feeling that pressure; it's time…"

"It isn't _time_!" Mary was furious and miserable as she turned to Marshall, her cheeks slick with sweat and tears. "It's not! I'm not _ready_!"

"Oh, sweetheart…" Jinx breathed behind him, but Marshall couldn't think about her.

It occurred to him why he'd been asked in here. He was a last-ditch hope in Mary's delirious eyes that he could get her out of this, that he could use his intelligence and intellect to find a way to end this nightmare until she could come to terms with the situation.

He could do nothing of the sort, but he needed to find the next best thing – and soon.

"Mary, listen to me," he implored in a low voice, picking up her hand as he had done before and squeezing it lightly. "Focus on what's going on _right now_," he whispered, hardly daring to believe he could be so quiet amongst the action. "The past and the future don't matter; just concentrate on getting through this…"

She was gulping, trying to keep from passing out, looking at him like he held all the answers. Her green eyes were so intently alert on his.

"In the here and now, _you are ready_," he let each word become its own so she couldn't possibly miss a beat. "You are ready to do this. Your body is ready. The baby is ready," her fingers were shaking so violently he compressed them again. "Follow your instincts; they never let you down."

He could tell from the urgency that persisted the time was winding down, that there was none of it left and Mary was maybe – just maybe – wavering to the ideas Marshall was doling out, but she couldn't forget what lay ahead, no matter what he said.

"You don't think I should…"

Her voice trailed, and her statement had been so soft it was nearly unintelligible but Marshall understood. Adoption versus parenting. Nature versus nurture. He relayed a final phrase to seal the deal.

"Mary, you're my friend," he was very serious, not even blinking so as to hold her gaze. "You're my best friend. That's not going to change, no matter what you decide."

A lot of things happened at once then. The flurry of nurses became a swarm, towels were being thrown onto Mary's midsection; her breathing became harsher and more ragged, and the doctor called out above the reassurances.

"You've got about fifteen seconds, Mary!" she reported. "Let's do it this time!"

Marshall was forced to move on, forced to leave everything at the door, to not even wish well in goodbye but he did his best to try.

"Stan and I are right outside," he insisted, backing away and allowing Jinx in his place, knowing he would not be permitted to stay. "We'll see you afterwards; you're gonna be just fine…"

Her hand was the last thing he let go of, backing around the woman in the pale pink dress clumsily. He was heartbroken to see that Mary was still trying to look at him, but he had to go.

Fumbling, not knowing what else he could do, Marshall flung his vigilance to the sky. Making sure Mary could still see, he mouthed the words he couldn't say.

"Love you…"

They didn't come back to him, but they pulled her head around to where it belonged and that was what they needed.

That was all they needed.

XXX

**A/N: Hope you all liked this one!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank-you again for the reviews! Sorry, this chapter's kind of short; I wish it were longer, especially since the story itself is not very long!**

XXX

Everything else became a blur as Marshall made himself turn and barrel through the doors, to leave his self-proclaimed best friend in the hands of her mother and the father of this child that was about to be born. He wanted to stay – to be with her, to help her – but at the same time knew she wouldn't want him to see her the way she was. Sparing her whatever dignity she still had left might be the best gift he could give her.

It was likely he looked a bit rattled when he emerged, rubbing his temple agitatedly and all. Stan was waiting right where Marshall had left him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Is she okay?" Stan pressed, remembering the stress with which Jinx had approached them.

Marshall was tired of answering this question and merely shrugged; it bordered on the most honest answer he could give.

"I'm not sure _you're_ looking okay," Stan observed, peering up into Marshall's blue eyes which were slightly vacant.

"I just…" Marshall shook his head and allowed Stan to lead him a different direction, further down the hall and away from Mary's room.

Part of him wanted to protest, to say he was going to stand sentry until he heard that baby cry but at the same time he knew Stan had his best interests in mind. Being able to hear everything going on, but being unable to see or to help wouldn't be good for either of them. He knew his boss wouldn't lead him too far astray.

"You just what?" Stan repeated, stopping at a vending machine at the end of the hall and rooting around in his pockets for change.

The main event was much further down the pike now, but they'd see if anyone came out.

"I just…" Marshall stated once more, shoving his hands into his pockets; the exact opposite of Stan. "I don't like seeing her that way – so out-of-control. And she can't help it, I know, but…"

There was no good way for him to go on, but Stan was listening.

"Marshall, she's a strong broad," Stan reminded him. "But even the best of us lose our cool sometimes. She's confused and she's worried, and it's all happening a lot faster than it needed to; that's for sure…"

Stan knelt and pulled out a Hershey bar and two Twix, handing one of them to Marshall. The boss unwrapped his candy and diverted slightly from the topic at hand, giving the treat a strange half-smile, as though he felt fondly toward it.

"This is going to sound stupid…" he mused, still with that genial grin on his face. "But whenever I see a Twix, I always think of you and Mary."

"Huh…" Marshall actually managed a very forced chuckle, copying Stan's movements and digging into the chocolate. "How come?"

"Well, you know…" Stan mumbled around his Hershey bar. "Because they come in two's. You can't get them in singles – can't have one without the other."

Marshall found this comparison sweetly endearing, and pondered it for a moment while he chewed his way through the sticky caramel. It gave him a good excuse not to speak right away, to not make more of the comment than it was meant to be.

"Very perceptive of you, Stan," he finally settled on. "I suppose Mary and I are the proverbial two peas in a pod – the 'twin sticks' as it were," he held up the packaging of his candy as a visual aid.

"Yeah, about that…" and Marshall could tell by the tone in Stan's voice that they were done with the cheerful comparisons and were about to pass into something more serious. "Peas in a pod and all. She is your partner. She is vulnerable right now, no matter what she says," he continued. "But I saw what went down when those bullets started raining in. And I couldn't help wondering…"

Stan shrugged, not really one to play counselor or matchmaker but it was obvious he was getting curious and wanted to give them something to focus on so Marshall's mind would not stray to the combat down the hall.

"Wondering…what?" his inspector pressed anyway, pausing mid-bite, the chocolate becoming sticky in his fingers.

Yet, he had a very shrewd idea 'what.'

"Well, just…" Stan was bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying not to appear evasive. "With your girlfriend in the same room; I was curious how she felt about it."

This made the third time in one day Marshall had been questioned on his, to use Abigail's words, 'throwing himself' on top of Mary. He was beginning to feel very defensive about it. Mary _was_ his partner. She _was_ his best friend. Not to mention, she was eight months pregnant and not supposed to have in the line of fire at all. And she'd been closer to him than Abigail, and it was wired into him just like breathing or blinking to bolt when Mary needed him.

There was something…_wrong_ with that?

Stan must've noticed the bewildered look on Marshall's face, because he was quick to explain himself away.

"I get it, Marshall – honestly, I do; I'm not blaming you," his boss reassured him, holding up a hand in a gesture of a cease fire. "Pure…curiosity," he concluded.

"Right," Marshall nodded, wanting to seem coherent in this discussion and he opted to finish his Twix bar while he explained. "Well, Abigail did bring it up but she said she understood…"

Marshall doubted this more and more with each passing minute. How many others were going to claim to have noticed him flinging himself on the woman he was _paid_ to protect? Ronnie? Cistulli? Delia? She'd have it all over town in two days.

However, Stan was undoubtedly picking up on the fact that his inquiry had made Marshall uncomfortable and segued quickly away from it, almost as swiftly as he'd made the comment about the Twix bars.

"Well, for the record, inspector…" he reached out to place a hand on Marshall's jacketed arm. "Mary's a big girl. If anybody can make it through this, she can. I'm sure you were a big help going in there to talk her down," strangely, he slipped the extra Twix into the pocket of his inspector's coat.

Marshall nodded and tried to smile, appreciating the ability with which Stan bounced from one end to the other. But with the silence came the realization that they'd only been standing at their post about five minutes, certainly not long enough for Mary to have popped yet by Marshall's calculations. Although, nobody knew at this point, and it prompted Marshall's next observation.

"I bet she was in labor for most of the day," he put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it agitatedly, now trying to recall if Mary had seemed overly tired or in pain. "But she's been used to all the aches the last couple months; I'm sure she thought it was nothing…"

"And too concerned about doing her job right to spend the time," Stan chimed in, crinkling his candy wrapper into a ball and depositing it in a nearby trashcan. "Between the testimony and Brandi."

"God…" Marshall breathed, trying to do his best to polish off the Twix because it was melting onto his fingers. "Can you imagine if Brandi would've gone through with it and Mary had…?" he couldn't even contemplate such a thing after the day he'd had and jumped to the end of his sentence. "_During_ the wedding?"

"Would've been a surprise for everyone," Stan actually laughed, resuming the rock in his stance. "Mary included."

"She'd have been so embarrassed," Marshall decided. "Jinx and Brandi would've gone into conniptions."

Although, Marshall mentally chastised himself for saying as much. Jinx had proven that, although concerned, she was able to hold up and be a stable force for her daughter during this frightening time. Despite Marshall wanting to be with said daughter, he was certainly grateful she had her mother.

"Maybe we should head back…" Marshall suggested, gesturing to where Mary was stationed. "I don't want to miss anything."

This was unlikely, because they were not far away and they'd be the first to know, but Stan understood that little could actually wipe-out all of Marshall's worry. Being closer might be harder, but it didn't stop it from being closer.

Stan nodded, "Sure…" and the pair of them ascended back to the waiting area.

Marshall awaited the return with some trepidation, wondering how much he'd be able to hear but fortunately, it was mostly loud muffling – if there was such a thing. The familiar couches and chairs were across the room, after all. Just as he settled himself beside Stan his phone rang for a second time. Sighing, Marshall removed it but he knew he should be glad for the distraction.

However, when he saw the name on the display it was bewildering to say the least. He didn't even remember having such a person programmed into his contacts, but he supposed he must've done it at some point and he hit the talk button at once.

"Peter?" he inquired, perplexed.

This caused Stan to look up, possibly thinking it had to do with Brandi.

"Hey Marshall…"

Marshall himself wondered if it was possible for a man to sound so dejected in just two words. Every syllable was laced with dread, regret, sorrow; the list went on and on. Poor Peter.

"Hi…" he replied, hoping he sounded halfway-aloof. "What can I do for you?"

There was nothing anybody could do for him that would make him feel much better at this point. Getting left at the altar wasn't a blow Marshall had experienced, and he was sure it caused a feeling of rejection he couldn't even fathom. Considering Peter's past and drowning his sorrows, Marshall began to hope he had someone to lean on during this time.

"Oh, nothing," Peter insisted while Marshall considered all this. "I thought about coming down to see how Mary was doing, but then I figured it was probably best if…" his voice trailed off and the tiniest of sighs made its way through. "Anyway," he picked up the thread. "I thought I'd just call instead."

It would be hard, Marshall reflected, to have the woman who was supposed to have become your sister-in-law go into premature labor and then have to pretend you weren't family in one fell swoop. To step aside, to let the others tend, to remember you weren't part of that circle and weren't going to be.

"That's very good of you," Marshall tried to make his concern seem noble. "I'm sure Mary's fine; Stan and I are just waiting to hear."

He didn't know why he'd said he was 'sure.' After all, he had seen her twice. But the last visit appeared to indicate things were about to take a shift, and it was like a whole new ballgame.

"I don't want to keep you," Peter insisted. "I just thought I'd check in. If you see her, tell her I hope she's all right."

"Sure, absolutely," Marshall nodded, Stan resuming his relaxed stance against the cushions now that it seemed everything was status quo. "Mary will appreciate that."

Marshall wasn't entirely certain this was true, as Mary was not a fan of large crowds or hovering or even people in general, but Peter had-had enough beating on for the day. At least he had been intelligent enough not to come all the way down to the hospital.

"Well, thanks…" Peter was saying. "And, if she asks, tell her that I can keep Brandi's things until we figure out..."

There was no good end to that sentence, and the ditched seemed to sense it. Marshall was becoming more and more uneasy with each passing second; he was failing completely to understand how Brandi could've left this man who had done so much for her, who had been such a big help in getting her back on track. Marshall cared very much about Brandi, but he was floored to think her self-esteem was this low.

"I'm sure you'll…get that arranged…" Marshall managed with a strange pause halfway through. "But, I'll let Mary know."

"Okay," Peter agreed. "Thank-you."

Marshall nodded, unsure how to end things; how to wrap up on a good note. He didn't imagine it was possible, as there was nothing at this point that was going to lift Peter's spirits – even an apology. His life, when it was supposed to have just been beginning, had come to a standstill.

And yet, Marshall strongly suspected another was having that exact same feeling at this very moment – the idea that everything in front of you was about to kick into motion, if only you could climb to the other side of the mountain.

XXX

**A/N: Love to you all!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I so appreciate all the interest this has generated. I only have you all to thank for it!**

XXX

"Mary, give us a strong push…" the woman in charge directed. "We've seen the head; one more should help it slip down all the way…"

Jinx could tell that her daughter was about to split apart at the seams; she was so tired. Mark was doing a brilliant job trying to keep her calm, but her mother knew she didn't have a lot left to give. She'd been able to tell before the wedding that Mary had been through a hard day, and this had only made things worse.

"All right, here we go…" the doctor announced. "Hard push, Mary – hard push…"

But the woman gathered her courage, her might, and all her resources and made every attempt to do as she was being instructed, each breath of life punctuated by a strangled, painful cry mixed with tears. It made her feel slightly better to release some of her frustration so loudly, but it also zapped her energy.

"There it is!" the doctor gave a gleeful shout, and Mark looked ready to faint. "The head's here Mary; the baby's crowning…"

Only part of this reached the patient however, who managed to wrap her mind around the fact that maybe – just maybe – if she pooled everything she had into it, if she kept pushing, she could be through it in no time at all. The head was right there; how much could be left?

"Angel, you've done so well…" Jinx whispered, stroking the damp strands of her hair and kissing her temple. "You're almost there…"

But Mary could not hear her mother and instead plunged onward, ready to be done. She didn't expect to be stopped.

"Hang on, Mary…" her handler spoke up. "Hold up – try not to push, okay?" she implored. "We're going to try and let you stretch so you don't tear…"

None of this made sense to Mary and she merely believed she'd been scolded like a little kid in school; like she'd done the wrong thing. She knew she could stop if she wanted to, but found this was not the case at all. The need to drive on was overwhelming; her body was trying to move forward all its own and Mary started to feel powerless against it, even as she attempted to do as told.

"I can't…!" she gasped, her head falling onto Jinx's shoulder to her right. "Mom, I can't…"

The strain in her muscles was too great; she had to push. She had to.

"I know, honey…" her mother was sweet, rubbing her hair even more fervently now that they were closer. "Just try to hang on; they're doing what they think is best…"

The weirdest, most bizarre phrase slipped from her lips then. The feeling of complete lack-of-control was intensified more than ever, and she wanted someone there to tell her how to get back in the game.

"I need Marshall…"

It made her cry; made her shake. Jinx was sympathetic, kissing her sweaty skin again.

"It's all right, darling," she promised foolishly. "You'll see him soon."

But how soon was 'soon?' Would she ever make it that far? Could she continue to fight this fiercely? Fortunately, the green light gave way to release the balled-up, tightness in her joints at attempting to wait this out.

"Push real slow Mary, okay?" was her eventual direction. "And not for long; we're gonna take baby steps here…"

At the end? When she was so close?

Nonetheless, Mary let it loose the minute she was allowed and almost at once felt a white-hot flame, a fire seep into every inch of her skin; it consumed her like a rash, like she couldn't shake it off no matter how she tried. The pain was so great it made her dizzy, made her head spin, and also made her shout out it startled and scorched her so severely.

"No…!"

She didn't even know why she said that, or how she managed to continue pushing until they stopped her again.

"Good…good; now breathe…"

She tried, but it was getting harder. Jinx must've noticed, because she prompted just as the doctors did.

"Breathe, sweetheart…" she murmured tenderly, caressing the top of her hand. "Take a deep breath…"

But she wasn't doing it right. She couldn't have been, because in the corners of her mind she noticed eyes on the heart monitors, more hands where they usually didn't belong.

"Mary, you're tensing up…" the tone was sharper this time. "It's putting extra stress on you – exhale, and then inhale for us, now…"

For _us_? For _them_? Did they think she was putting herself through this for _them_?

"Come on, Mare…" Mark spoke for the first time in awhile, voice a little shaky but determined. "You can do it; you'll be able to rest soon."

That word 'soon' again. She associated it with Marshall, and such a thought prompted her to gasp for air; up and then down, in and then out. She had to close her eyes to manage it, but she heard Jinx praising her even through the darkness.

"Just like that, sweetie…" she assumed. "Good girl…"

But Mary did not feel like a good girl at all. She felt like a stupid, ill-prepared, inconsiderate girl who could scarcely believe she'd gotten herself into this mess without doing any reading, any research at all. Why hadn't she listened to Marshall more often? Surely he'd said something about this? Why couldn't he come back and tell her how to end this right now?

"All right Mary, another push and then take a breath again…" came that familiar voice.

She couldn't _think_. There wasn't _time_. For one of the first instances in her life, Mary really and truly just wanted to give up.

"Mom…"

This was going to be pathetic; she knew it. Mary turned her watery, fatigued eyes to Jinx and tried to tell her without words that she was throwing in the towel. But the words came anyway.

"I'm tired, mom…"

Why had she said her name twice? Why was she shedding tears again?

"Mary honey; you're so close…" Jinx murmured tenderly, inching herself even nearer to the bed, running her fingers up and down her daughter's arm. "It won't be long now, I promise…"

How could Jinx legitimately promise anything? Didn't she know how that sounded?

"I'm scared…" admitting it made her lip quiver; it even made Jinx well-up which did not help matters.

Miraculously, however, the older woman managed a sunny, optimistic smile; trying to hurry up, but trying to be patient all in the same moment.

"Mary, it's just like Marshall said…" she placated. "All you need to do right now it get through this; we can handle everything else when it comes…"

Marshall. It was Marshall, again, that reminded her she needed to keep going. That giving up wasn't a choice. Not now, not ever.

"Okay…" Mary gulped, not even sure why she was agreeing but nodding to reinforce the point. "Okay…"

"You listen to them; they're gonna help you…" Jinx faced the end of the bed once more, squeezing Mary's arm and waiting for them to give her child her last bit of instruction.

Mary blinked; trying to scoop in the rest of her resolve, facing downward with her chin perched on her chest. She could see Mark in one eye and Jinx in the other. But it was Marshall, somewhere far back in her mind, that she focused on in wait for whatever came next.

"Mary, if you think you can push for a solid ten seconds we'll have the head out…" the doctor herself was starting to sound more buoyant. "After that; it'll be smooth sailing…"

There was nothing smooth about any of this, but Mary was forced to take her at her word. She did her best to breathe as the seconds counted down, trying to suck in enough air to get her through what was sure to be the longest ten seconds of her life.

"On three, all right?"

No. Not on three. She wasn't ready.

"One…two…"

But, ready or not…

"Three! Push – strong push!"

It was those instincts – those instincts that Marshall had touted when he'd given her his pep-talk – that barreled Mary into giving it her all, to not holding back, to reach the light glimmering at the end of the tunnel.

The shouts of – Mary guessed encouragement – grew louder and louder with each passing moment, but it was difficult to hear them now. There was a rushing in her ears, a throbbing at the highest level in her abdomen but she forced herself not to stop. If she stopped she'd never start again.

"Mare, you're doing great…!" Mark sounded almost triumphant. "Keep going!"

"Keep pushing, sweetheart…"

"Hang on; five seconds…"

"Five seconds, Mary; you can make it…" that was Jinx again.

She wanted to say she couldn't, but she also couldn't bring it to an end.

"Three…two…"

But on 'one' Mary wouldn't let herself impede the progress, even as she knew she needed to discontinue to grab a breath of air. She didn't know where she was; how close, how far, how much success she might've had. She just knew that she didn't trust herself to begin again.

Unfortunately, phrases met her ears once more and they were nothing she wanted to hear.

"The cord…"

"Around her neck…"

"Just slip it off…"

"Is everything okay?" she heard Mark too, but the urgency with which the team gave their suggestion couldn't be missed.

"Mary, you're gonna have to breathe – stop and take a breath…"

Her breath was more like a cough, but it was the best she could do, refusing to lift her bent head to meet anybody's gaze. The choke combined with her lack-of-air made her eyes water, but she concentrated on getting another one out. Jinx's hand was patting her hair.

And yet the moment came when Mary's intuition overpowered that of the experts. She'd begun the final descent milliseconds before her doctor gave the final, "Okay…"

Everything swirled and spun like a haze, like a fog, like something Mary was fighting so severely to claw her way out of. It became more than want or need. It became desire and drive and desperation all rolled into one.

It was Jinx's high-pitched squeal of delight that pulled her back to earth.

"Mary…! Mary…!"

She fell to pieces, into a million severed shards, into her mother's waiting arms, slumped in her chest. Her eyes saw the pale pink fabric of her dress; saw how damp it was becoming with her tears.

"Mary…" Jinx was desperate as well. "Mary honey; open your eyes…"

For the very first time, Jinx pawed her daughter away and it was the sound of a penetrating, squeaky and shrill wail that made Mary obey her mother's wishes. Blinking, doing all she could to keep her lids open; she let her swimmy gaze rest on a failing, red-faced little being with a purple-tinged umbilical cord hanging loosely from its neck.

Mary was breathing so fast in trying to process that she almost didn't register what came next.

"It's a girl!"

And nothing else even seemed to matter. It was over. She was done.

"Oh Mary…" Jinx breathed for about the sixth time, guiding her daughter back into her embrace, holding her as well as she was able. "Oh, I'm so proud of you…"

Mary herself was still weeping, not even sure what for, not even off-the-handle; just tears. Tears of frustration, of exhaustion, of fear, of wondering what to do now that this little girl was here.

She'd have to remember to thank Mark later, for he was inquiring about something that seemed important.

"Was the cord wrapped around her neck?" he voiced concernedly.

"Yes, but she's crying so that means she's breathing…" a kind nurse informed him. "We need to get her to the NICU though; it'll have to be a quick greeting."

Beneath the gap in Jinx's rocking arms, Mary saw Mark dash over and touch the arm of his daughter, lightly and tentatively but with a boyish, goofy grin on his face. She was wiggling in all directions on a table, still screaming to beat the band but it was clear that coming early required a trip to the NICU regardless of how loud you might be.

"She's four pounds, eight ounces…" a second nurse reported.

It was this that made Mary's heart beat faster, that tuned her back in. She didn't know why; but the size and stature was scary. She couldn't be that small. What else might be wrong with her?

"She's tiny…" Mary articulated throatily, battling her way out of Jinx's grip. "Is she all right?" the thought made more wetness leak out.

Jinx got to work at once, "Bring her to Mary; bring her here…"

Mary wasn't sure whether she wanted this or not, but the phrase that came was heartbreaking.

"We need to get her in an incubator; we've gotta go…"

"Let her see her first; she hasn't even seen her!" Jinx protested, for which Mary was grateful.

This seemed to soften the squad just enough to swaddle the little one in a blanket, snatching her from where she lay in front of Mark's adoring eyes. It was obvious Mary would not be able to hold her by the way the nurse kept her at bay, but she was close enough to touch her.

Jinx was about to start bawling as she got a glance as well, and the most Mary could do was lay a hand on her tiny finger; the briefest stroke of skin that sent her into sobs all over again.

"Hi Bug…" she wept, her chest heaving up and down at seeing her swept away.

She was just so miniscule and so twitchy; the name had slipped out. Jinx must've thought Mary might attempt to get up and go after the child because she quietly pulled her back against the bed, willing her to stay calm.

But, Mary had no intention of fighting and slumped instantly onto the mound of pillows behind her. She was trembling, clammy and suddenly cold; she felt very exposed now, and more than anything she wanted to stop shaking. She couldn't tell if she was chilling because she'd suddenly caught a draft or what it was.

"Honey, relax…" Jinx implored, rubbing her arms soothingly. "Relax baby, its okay…"

Baby. Jinx usually reserved that title for Brandi. It made Mary feel as small as that little girl to be called as such again. Her eyes roved around the room, trying to take everything in; trying to imagine how it was possible that minutes before that child had been inside her and now she was here.

However, with the release came even a marginal amount of clarity. She felt sick to her stomach, like she might puke, but at least her brain was working again, and it landed on Mark standing bewildered and lost nearby.

"Mark…" she croaked, and her voice was shuddery too.

He walked over, staring down at her and expecting directions.

"Will you go with her?" his ex asked. "Please? I want to know what they're doing with her; where she is…"

Something deep inside couldn't stand the idea of the baby becoming ambiguous; of being off on her own with no one to watch over her. In the here and now, Mark was her best bet for keeping an eye out for irregularities.

"Sure," he was predictably agreeable. "I'll go right now…" he gestured to a side door behind him that the nurse had disappeared through. "Try to get some rest, yeah?"

"Yeah…" was all Mary could manage, unable to nod with her head getting lost in her pillows.

Her cheeks were sticky from the tears and her skin had gone moist; slick from sweat as well as emotion. Her gut was rolling, her muscles quivering, and she still thought she might throw up but was pretty sure she could keep from doing it.

But Mark grinned like she appeared the part and rumpled her hair before leaving.

"You were awesome, Mare," he praised. "Rest up," he said for the second time.

Agreement wasn't needed on this front and Mary allowed him to escape while she tried to get it together. She'd never been more fatigued in her whole life. She wondered if she were to sleep for a week if she'd actually be rested enough. She didn't want to move or keep her eyes open, but it seemed essential to do both.

And there was one more thing to handle before she drifted off.

"Mom…" she swallowed, and Jinx seemed relieved she was starting to unwind. "I need to see Marshall."

She expected her mother to protest, to say she needed to sleep, to make her wait before the visit but she must've known prompting an argument wouldn't help Mary's condition. She smiled lovingly and nodded.

"Let them get you cleaned up a little bit," was her only request. "I'll be sure to send him in before they wheel you into recovery."

Mary could live with this, just hoping she didn't pass out before her partner could show up. But she had to get him in here; the stirrings she'd felt at that baby, the stirrings she'd suspected she'd been feeling for the last few weeks. She needed an explanation – a validation – and Marshall was the only one who could give it to her.

The overwhelming longing to bolt off and protect that little being was 'stirring' enough.

XXX

**A/N: Yay for Norah! I didn't give her many additional issues because it appears the show didn't, and although I find it hard to believe a 32-weeker wouldn't have some small hiccup, we gloss things over for the sake of television. I threw the umbilical cord bit in there to suffice.**

**The conclusion is to come! Sorry it's wrapping up as quickly as it begun! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank-you, thank-you, and thank-you again for reading! Sorry this is the end!**

XXX

Marshall heard the cry before he was ready. It made him jump about six feet in the air, like a fire alarm had gone off and smoke signals were being sent up. As it was, the noise had him rocketing off the couch in anticipation, Stan not far behind.

"Do you think…?" the inspector murmured uncertainly, eyes on the door where they'd been posted the majority of the wait.

"How long's it been?" Stan checked his watch as though for confirmation.

"I don't know," Marshall shrugged, turning to face his boss briefly. "It's been almost an hour since I was in there last…"

Hard to believe, really. An hour wasn't that long when you considered childbirth, but to the two of them it had dragged on like an eternity. Everyone always said waiting was the hardest part, and Marshall was a patient man, but still. This was entirely different.

"I definitely heard _something_…" Stan persisted. "Hard to say if it came out of five or not."

But they waited. And they waited. Neither one of them sat down again, some sort of intuition firing through their veins that the sound had been what they'd believed. Marshall tried to remind himself with each passing second that if it had been Mary, nobody would come out right away. There'd be recovery and clean-up and who knew what else, especially with a preemie.

And yet, just when Marshall was about to suggest they resume their seats once more, the doors swung open and Jinx emerged. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but bound and determined and both men rushed to her at once.

Unfortunately, they also spoke at once.

"How is she?"

"What happened?"

Marshall had got his in first, but it was Stan's that she answered. Tears were round and fat in the corners of Jinx's eyes, but they radiated ecstasy and liberation. She was sniffling so she wouldn't become a complete puddle of sap, but worked less at it the longer she stood.

Marshall was ready to shake the information out of her when it finally came.

"It's a girl."

More tears at this – from Jinx, at least. Marshall and Stan both laughed; a joyous and bountiful song that spoke of nothing more than that they were happy to have made it to the other side. This wasn't the most congratulatory moment when you considered what could very well be Mary's decision, but being present when a new life came into the world; there was nothing like it.

"A beautiful little girl…" Jinx blubbered. "Four pounds, eight ounces. She's so small; she's really-really small…"

Marshall had expected as much and it made no difference to him.

"She'll be great!" he assumed with a silly grin and more optimism than he usually cared to project about uncertain circumstances. "She's only eight ounces away from five; and everything over five is considered full-term unless for some reason there were additional problems."

Jinx chuckled through her leakage and patted his arm; Stan, generous as always, leaned over and pecked the woman's cheek – a congratulations without saying so.

"She…she's little…" Jinx reinforced again with a nod. "And the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck…"

Stan started, looking alarmed, but Marshall remained unconcerned.

"But she cried, right?" he persisted. "You've got to breathe to cry!"

Jinx laughed again, "You sound like the doctors," she teased. "We haven't seen much of her yet; they sent her to the NICU to be looked at."

This was also something Marshall could've guessed and anticipated having gotten all the information he was going to when it came to the baby. The more important, pressing question inched its way into his mind without his consent. It was as much a reflex as anything else.

"How's Mary?"

"Oh, she's…." Jinx waved a wild hand, smiling softly beneath her blotchy cheeks. "She's fine – a little overwhelmed, I think; and exhausted, but…" she swallowed trying to get a grip. "But okay. She's okay."

"Looks like the same could be said about you," Stan said, comfortable joking now that they had paddled their way across the river.

Jinx attempted to look modest, simply shaking her head with a hand over her heart.

"Lot to be said for being the coach – especially unprecedented like this," Stan went on. "I know I couldn't have done it."

"You don't say," Marshall piped up, turning to face his boss with a maniacal gleam in his eye. "You sure you don't want the opportunity? There are lots of gals around here to practice on."

"I'm old school," Stan held up his hands while Jinx's eyes scanned the pair of them. "Guilty as charged. Cigars in the waiting room is more my style."

Marshall decided they had probably run their limit on the pregnancy joshes and didn't imagine Jinx was up for much banter. He diverted to a second topic of discussion, hoping Stan would back him up.

"Where's Mark?" he peered over Jinx's shoulder to see if there was an outline of the man beyond the frosted glass. "Is he still with Mary?"

"No…" Jinx shook her head again, turning herself to glance as Marshall was. "Mary asked him to go down to the NICU with the nurses to keep an eye on the baby."

This information was valuable to Marshall, and he recalled those two sleepers in Mary's bag again. For the second time, he wanted to voice what he was thinking but once again talked himself down. It was not his place to share or to speculate. There were more important matters. Although he really couldn't think what at the moment.

"You could probably use a break," Stan was saying, putting a hand on Jinx's shoulder. "Why don't I take you down to the cafeteria for a bite, huh?"

It was a kind offer, and all he and Stan had-had to eat were the candy bars, as none of them had been able to eat at the wedding. Or, lack-of-wedding. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Marshall suspected Jinx would protest, continue to dither about or go back to Mary, but she seemed relieved to have been given the chance to escape. It wasn't everyday one of your girls left a man at the altar and the other gave birth hours later.

"That would be nice," she gave Stan a loving smile. "Thank-you."

"Sure," Stan nodded agreeably. "I also thought you should know I've been looking in on Brandi since she took Mary's car and she's on the move, but for all intents and purposes she appears to be safe."

"Oh…!" Jinx let out an enormous breath of air, almost like she'd completely forgotten about Brandi for the time being and hadn't known how worried she was until another had brought it up. "That's wonderful…" she nodded. "Thank-you…" she said again.

Marshall was hard-pressed not to smile, and assumed he would be invited along to join in some crumbly cafeteria cake.

"I think the food is this way…" Stan pointed down the hall and Jinx started to follow, Marshall in their wake.

He didn't anticipate Jinx whirling about on the spot, recalling something else in no time at all before they could get too far along.

"Why don't you join us later?" was what came out of her mouth. "Mary wants to see you."

Marshall had unintentionally started to believe Mary's constant haranguing on Jinx over the years – how she was deficient in tact, some measure of intelligence, and certainly intuition. But, looking into her face in that moment, there was absolutely no mistaking the significance there. Her daughter had called for Marshall at least three times during what she would perhaps consider her darkest hour. It wasn't for nothing, and it wasn't coincidence.

"Oh…" he breathed somewhat stupidly in response. "Are-are you sure? Mary has to be tired; I don't want to…"

His voice trailed away, wondering with each passing word why he was fighting something he wanted desperately. To see Mary during this monumental time was irreplaceable.

"You go on," Jinx insisted. "I promised I'd get you in before they send her to recovery."

Now Jinx was making promises on his behalf. There could be no arguing with it now. And so, Marshall agreed to go and pay his partner a visit before she conked out after quite the eventful day. He couldn't imagine how spent he would be after living through an afternoon like this one.

Leaving Jinx and Stan to meander down the hall in search of a snack, Marshall retreated back from where he'd come and eased his way back through those double doors wondering what exactly he might find.

His first thought upon entering was that it was infinitely quieter than it had been on his last excursion. Only one or two nurses milled around, replacing tools and washing up; cleaning around the bed in time to get Mary somewhere she could rest.

Mary herself, where Marshall's eyes ventured not long after, was slumped on her right side, looking limp as all get-out. The gown seemed looser on her bones, her skin more sunken, but she was obviously just glad to be able to shut her eyes. Marshall smiled at the sight and thought she might've already dozed off when the sound of the door closing made her open up once more.

Amazingly – Marshall was stunned – she actually smiled. It was soft, only halfway on one corner, but he felt it sweep through the air as though on wings. It spun and circled, captured all around them in a cloud to hold and bottle and keep close, to pull out again at a later date.

But, he knew Mary and getting sappy wasn't going to please her. He went for gentle and teasing instead.

"Hey-hey!" he boomed, spreading his arms wide at her form and walking over. "There she is. All emptied out…"

"Hmm…" she mumbled indistinctly, not losing her grin yet.

Marshall wondered if she was loopy enough if he could chance what he wanted to. He knew it was not a good idea under ordinary circumstances, but he prayed she might understand. It would be quick and painless.

Swiftly, he craned his neck over her reclining form and pressed his lips against her temple while simultaneously clapping her roughly on the back. Endearing but rugged all at once. He hoped she'd appreciate that as he settled himself onto the stool.

"How you feeling?"

"Hmm…" she whispered again. "Like somebody pumped me full of lead again, only…" she sighed, half her face disappearing inside her pillow. "My intestines ate every shard of the bullet, twisted them up, and then spewed them all over my…what do you call that doofus…?" she questioned. "Nether regions."

Marshall made an appropriately gruesome face, "Nice."

"Yeah…" she almost laughed. "Real trip."

Marshall eyed her, giving her his best, most penetrating stare. He tried to keep on part of a smile too.

"I'm not gonna stay long," he told her. "You need to get some rest, but I wanted you to know I was here and I'll be back when you're feeling up to it."

"Okay…" she didn't argue, slightly regretting her decision to attempt to have this conversation right now. "Thanks…"

She closed her eyes again, lashes fluttering onto her cheeks with a second sigh. Marshall watched her, reveling in being able to share in the moment. He didn't know how many more like them waited for him and his partner. He knew he had to take the opportunity while he had it.

"Mary?"

"Mmm…?"

"I'm proud of you," he whispered.

The four words spurred Mary to fix him with her stare another time, however heavy her lids might feel. It was kind of him to say, and sounded different coming out of his mouth versus her mother's. She didn't know what it was about it, and watching him with his chin in his hand, totally genuine, there was no way she could wait now. It recalled her to why she'd wanted him here, because he was honest and he could help her. His help was the only brand she ever wanted.

"I think I set some kind of a record today," she began, hoping he would recognize that there was no finality in her voice and she needed him to hang on.

"How do you figure?" she watched his brow furrow, even sideways from where she lay the most comfortably.

"Well…"

She wanted to sit up and actually tried. She wasn't sure what part of her brain allowed such an action; it must've been programmed into the very back corners somewhere. She slid on her elbow, attempting to use a pillow for support.

Marshall stopped her, however.

"Lie down…" he beseeched her quietly, extending one hand and placing his fingers tenderly on her shoulder, firmly but gently pushing her back beneath. "We can keep talking, but lie down."

This seemed a good compromise and Mary wasn't up to arguing. Instead, she finished her thought while abiding his request.

"Well…" this time it was accompanied by a sigh. "I'm probably the only broad _at least_ for miles around that manages to create life _and_ end it all in the same afternoon."

She used jokes to try and downplay the experience, to get rid of the fact that as soon as the baby had made her appearance, she'd become haunted with the shooting hours before. It was too much for her mind to hold; it was as though she'd run out of room. Forgetting for hours in lieu of giving birth had made the realization more shocking when it finally returned to the forefront.

"You were doing what you were trained to do," Marshall insisted, something Mary could've expected. "So was I. So were all of us. You have to make choices sometimes. Are you telling me you regret stepping out from behind that wall and blasting that lowlife?"

He didn't look as though he could comprehend her saying such a thing, but her eyes went downcast and they strayed from his as they sometimes did when she wanted to avoid.

"Marshall, I killed him."

Her voice was small – meek, almost. Marshall knew Mary had killed before, and it had bothered her then. But that time, like this time, was either justified or self-defense.

Marshall leaned forward, "What would've happened if you hadn't?"

Mary knew exactly what would've happened, and she was so exhausted that the possibility seemed about ten times more frightening on this side of things. She knew she was out-of-it, that she needed to sleep and discuss this when she could think more clearly. But, some weird and far-off portion of her felt like she _was_ thinking clearly, albeit entirely more emotionally.

"I had to do it…" she hissed urgently, and out the corner of her eye she could see tears soaking into her pillow and running down the fabric. "I needed to protect you and Stan, or he would've…"

"Mary, let's do this another time…" Marshall interrupted concisely. "You're worn-out – and with good reason – you'll feel better after you've had…"

"I don't want to sleep, I want to talk to you!" it was her turn to interrupt, more angrily at that. "Eight years of you begging me like some poor sap on his last meal to open up and the one time I try…"

"Okay…" Marshall reverted, still doing his best to stay cool. He was cautious reaching out to brush some of the hair falling in front of her face, poking it behind her ear, "Okay. But try to keep it together; they'll kick me out if they see you getting upset."

Mary knew this to be true and hated herself for succumbing to such weak-willed, spineless displays to get Marshall to stay with her. The stupid showdown in the courthouse wasn't even what was really bothering her – it was, but not enough yet. It was what came with it. It was that desire and pull to protect, to not let those with any meaning whatsoever out of her sight or mind. She'd learned too young and too early how that felt.

"You're getting at something else here," Marshall leaned even closer, still not lenient enough to let her sit up all the way. "There's more to it than this."

He always knew.

"Like what?" she played him anyway.

He wasn't going to beat around the bush, "Why are there two sleepers in your bag?"

He was as direct as possible, leaving no wiggle-room for Mary to divert from the issue. That was the point of this whole conversation, wasn't it? Why did she need to fight anymore? She'd been fighting all damn day.

She swallowed, "So the kid would have something to go home in."

"Where is the kid going home to?" Marshall wanted to know, barely giving her time to finish her sentence.

If he kept on her, if he kept the flow in motion, they might make it where they were headed before sunset. They could power through and be at the crux of the matter if they just worked hard enough. If they worked together.

Could Mary say it? Could she commit? Commitment was one of her strongholds, but about this?

"I cancelled my meeting with the Templeton's," she revealed, which was a classic non-answer. "The night that Mark showed up."

"Because Mark showed up?" Marshall drove on.

But a part of him – a big part of him – suspected this was not the case at all. Mary proved it when she shook her head, which looked a little amusing from her reclined form.

"No."

It was Marshall's impassive, almost non-emotive face that made Mary believe she could continue. She was so lethargic; she wanted to go to sleep more than anything, feeling as though someone had beaten every inch of her with a baseball bat. Her stomach hurt and she still had that telltale queasiness. Who could be certain she wouldn't spill more than the proverbial guts with an admission?

"Marshall…" she tried so hard not to sound whiny or weepy. "She's…" her eyes skirted up and down, left to right. "She's…_mine_."

"Of course she is," Marshall reinforced thoughtfully. "In whatever capacity you choose, she will always belong to you in some way. And right now, she is _fully and completely_ yours to do with as you please."

Never mind Mark for purposes of this discussion.

"And what if I don't know what to do with her?" Mary posed, struggling to keep her eyes open. "What if I can't…?"

"I think you do," Marshall cut in swiftly. "I really believe that. You're just having a hard time coming to terms, but somewhere in there you know what it is you want."

Somewhere in there, maybe. But would that somewhere ever surface? Would she ever be able to keep from running, to accept responsibility to something she had not planned for or calculated?

Marshall might've sensed that the indecision was starting to become overwhelming and he had indulged her enough for the day. He was worried about how much of a tizzy she could work herself into if he let her, and imagined it was time for her to get to recovery. Surely recovery sounded nice on some level; a place to start fresh, to begin again, to get a new perspective.

As it was, he was relieved to see her shake her head once more and close her eyes. She sighed softly, letting the pillows wrap her up. Marshall knew touching her again would likely not be permitted, but her index and middle finger were peeking out from beneath the edge of the blankets. He remembered how tightly she'd grabbed hold before and had a hard time letting that go.

Carefully, he extended his own index finger and thumb and squeezed her extremities, and she didn't pull away.

"Get some sleep," he whispered, knowing the battle was over. "You've had a big day. You're entitled, and I promise I won't tell anyone."

She chuckled lightly beneath her closed eyes.

"Stan and your mom went to get some food," he reported quickly. "And hey…"

She recognized that he wanted her to hear whatever was going to come next, and it took all she had to peer at him through slits and sweaty cheeks.

Marshall smiled at her and slipped his fingers free, sliding them into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the Twix bar Stan had purchased earlier and presented it in front of her line of vision, smirking perhaps a little insufferably.

"A snack," he dictated. "A little gift from Stan."

"I'm not hungry…" she shut her eyes again, wondering why he'd roused her for that.

"It's okay," he chuckled. "I'll keep it for later. Did you know that Twix actually stands for twin sticks?" he remembered from earlier. "And that you actually can't buy them in singles; you have to take two at a time."

His monotone drivel was the perfect thing to put her right under, "More for me…"

"Joined at the hip," Marshall recalled Stan's thinking the Twix resembled the pair of them, knowing if he kept babbling Mary might actually go to sleep. "Inseparable. Indivisible and undividable – doubles and doppelgangers and the mirror image."

She was gone. He could tell by the way she breathed through her nose; she'd held out as long as she could, but there was no keeping her any longer. He was glad, for once, that she'd given up the ghost.

Standing, Marshall hoped there would be a nurse here in due time to wheel Mary wherever she needed to go to start getting healed. She was going to want to be out of the hospital as soon as possible. Looking down at her sprawled form, his eye still caught those fingers curled where he'd left them and had the urge to take them up once again. But he knew when to leave well enough alone.

For the most part.

"You did great, partner," he whispered in farewell. And then, just in case somewhere in her subconscious she needed easing of her mind, "I'll take a peek at the baby before I head out."

He was already at the door; hand on the knob, when he heard her voice. It was music, feathers on wings, lighter than air, but more certain than not.

"Marshall," Mary whispered. "Her name's Norah."

**A/N: Thank-you all so much for taking the time to look in on this, even knowing it was short from the very beginning. It's definitely how I imagine things might've gone during Norah's birth, given what the episode showed as well as what happened afterward. Of course, it has a little bit of my own touch thrown in but I tried to keep it pretty true.**

**In other news, I am still attempting some more Sam but it's gotten pretty formulaic and I fear repetitive, but we'll see where it goes. Thanks again for your kind words on this little drabble!**


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